"Of him the red-faced swain whose rounded eyes Dwelt on her charms in moony ecstacies? Of pride, of shame, of sorrow? Nay, of what now seems Nature's crowning good; Hunger-wrought dreams are hers of food--food--food. She'll wake from them to-morrow; "Wake fiercely famishing, savagely sick, The animal in man is quick, so quick To stir and claim full forage. Let famine parch the hero's pallid lips, Pinch Beauty's breast, then watch the swift eclipse Of virtue, sweetness, courage! "Cynical? Sense leaves that to callow youth And callous age; plain picturing of the truth Seems cynical,--to folly. Friend, the true cynic is the shallow mime Who paints humanity devoid of crime, And life supremely 'jolly,' "See such an one, in scented sheets a-loll! Rich fare and rosy wine have lapped his soul In a _bon-vivant's_ slumbers. His pen lies there, the ink is scarcely dry With which he sketched the smug philosophy Of Cant and Christmas Numbers. "He dreams of--holly, home, exuberant hearts, Picturesque poverty, the toys and tarts Of childhood's hope?--No, verily! 'Tis a dream-world of pleasure, power, and pelf, Visions of the apocalypse of Self, O'er which his soul laughs merrily." "Enough!" I cried. "The morning's earliest gleams Will soon dissolve this pageantry of dreams. The New Year's at our portals. Unselfishness, and purity, and hope, Dawn with it through the dream-world's cloudy cope, Even on slumbering mortals." "Granted," the Shadow answered. "Poppy-Land Is not _all_ Appetite and Humbug bland. Myriads of night-capped noddles We must leave unexplored. Their owners oft Are saints austere, or sympathisers soft, Truth's types and Virtue's models!" (_To be continued._) * * * * * ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.